


More Like Most of the Time

by fits_in_frames



Category: Heroes (TV)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-09
Updated: 2008-01-09
Packaged: 2018-01-20 05:42:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1498768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fits_in_frames/pseuds/fits_in_frames
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He sleeps in Peter's bed, of course, soaking up the little curves and dips of the mattress into his flesh.</p>
            </blockquote>





	More Like Most of the Time

**Author's Note:**

> _sometimes i feel like i'm drowning_  
>  _actually it's more like most of the time_  
>  _but every now and then when i am sleeping_  
>  _i still have a dream that i'm flying_  
>  {alexi murdoch // dream about flying}  
> 
> 
> Prelude to "Four Months Later". Spoilers through "Four Months Ago".

It's always dark in Peter's apartment, the curtains perpetually drawn. Nathan won't have it any other way, because it was nighttime when he saw Peter last, and that's that. He uses only the desk lamp, only to pore over the pictures he finds in Peter's sock drawer, and when he gets sick of that, he paces. He avoids the mirrors, because even in the dark, he's afraid of what he sees before he blinks, more afraid of what he sees after. His fingertips ache as they pass over the dresser, the kitchen counter, the windowsill. There's a layer of dust everywhere, but he read somewhere that household dust is mainly flakes of skin, so he pretends he's touching Peter, and sometimes he believes it.

He sleeps in Peter's bed, of course, soaking up the little curves and dips of the mattress into his flesh. He remembers the way Peter's back felt against his stomach when he would come into Nathan's room, claiming bad dreams and cold feet, and slip into bed, wrapping Nathan's arms around himself, covering Nathan's hand on his chest with one of his own. (He'd once found his own boys like that, Monty's arms around Simon's waist, both of them fast asleep, and he hadn't woken them, because he understood what it meant, he understood more than they'd ever know.)

And he dreams about Peter, dreams about his smirky little face and the light touch of his fingertips. Sometimes they're saving the world like real superheroes, fighting off bad guys, rescuing babies from burning townhouses, all that. But sometimes, most of the time, they're flying. It doesn't matter where they're going, just that they're in the air. Peter laughs and Nathan laughs and they're kids again, weightless, free, happy.

He always wakes up in the middle of it, in the dark and the cold, curled in on himself, head pounding, lips numb. Sometimes he wills himself back to sleep, vainly attempting to pick up a new dream where the old one left off, but sometimes he'll get up, stand at the window, spread his arms, and pretend he's himself again.


End file.
